


In Search of Perfection

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:58:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: He's unconscious, has been for hours; the voices he's hearing inside his head are ones he's heard his entire life, reminding him of what is important, what's expected of him, reminding him of who and what he is.  Those voices are more real to him now than the voices of the men next to him.They are on the outskirts of Marseille, France, their mission accomplished.  Now the mission has become bringing their team leader back alive, along with each other, of course.  Though it might be easier if he'd just wake up!





	In Search of Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> During the War years. My thanks to MarvelMyra for adding 'Uncle Jake' into the mix, and for asking a pertinent question about background that led to this story.

Sometimes Casino thought if he heard one more desk jockey describe their upcoming missions as 'easy in, easy out', or 'piece of cake', or even the more casual 'really shouldn't be any trouble, old chap, just a walk in the park mostly', he was gonna slug someone! Take this one, for instance. Parachute into the south of France, con the local prison camp kommandant, Ernst Waller, into believing one Jules Martine was a double agent really working for the Allies, rather than the stalwart Vichy collaborator that Martine truly was. At the same time, of course, placing his rival Rene Olivier in a favorable position to act as the Allies' 'Man in Marseille'. Yeah, piece a cake, no problem at all.

Except that Waller's beloved baby sister was recently married to Martine, something no one in HQ Intelligence thought was worth mentioning! So, first they had to convince pretty little Berta Martine nee Waller that her new husband was a lying ratfink who was cheating on her left and right, and was a traitor to the cause right along with it. Took Actor AND Garrison sweet talking her, Casino and Goniff planting some incriminating evidence, and Chief lurking around like a stalker to get THAT little job done! AND it brought them so close to the exit time that it was going to be a real race to meet the sub in time.

So, mission completed, they hightailed it for the contact point only to get caught up in a bombing raid that came as much a surprise to them as it did to the Germans. The staff car went flying, all of them taking their lumps, but Garrison getting slammed into the windshield and knocking himself out cold. He had a real knack for that!

Now, they were well past the first pickup time, no transportation til Chief could locate something with wheels actually still attached, and Garrison still mostly unconscious six hours after the crash. Deadline was closing fast on the second exit plan, and as far as Casino knew, there wasn't a third one. Yeah, decking someone was the least of it, in Casino's estimation, and the others wouldn't have been far behind him. 

'Mostly unconscious' was the right term, since Garrison wavered between totally gone, to rousing enough to tell them to 'leave, get the hell out of here, make the next rendezvous, get home' and then crashing again. Sometimes he'd talk, but little that made sense, and other than keeping him down and calm, there was little they could do. So Actor and Chief were out trying to round up transportation, since Actor could speak French, German and probably anything else they would come up against, and Chief could hotwire and drive anything they found with wheels. Casino and Goniff were taking turns standing guard outside and watching over Garrison in that tiny shed with the leak in the roof making a huge puddle off to one side, the door half hanging, and only a torn musty blanket left in a corner for them to settle Garrison down on.

 

***He was sixteen again, standing in his father's den, his father sitting in that big leather chair behind his desk, his mother standing along side, her hand on her husband's shoulder. They were both looking at him like he was someone they barely knew and certainly had little affection for. Craig was getting the lecture again, the one he could have recited along with all the corollaries. He listened, though, standing there at the proper parade rest position, eyes looking straight at whichever of them was doing the lecturing at the moment.

He always did listen, just like he always admitted where he'd fallen short, where he had to improve. His parents sometimes offered suggestions, well, more like orders, on just how that improvement should take place, but more often he was left with a coldly stern, "a GOOD boy wouldn't have to have us tell him what was right or wrong or what he needs to do in order to be better. A GOOD boy would already know that. Of course, a GOOD boy would already have done that, don't you think, Craig, not disappointed us in this way?? How do you think you're going to grow into a good MAN when you can't even manage being a good BOY??!" And of course, he could hardly deny that. 

He'd really messed up this week, all around. He DID try, he really did, but somehow that last answer on the test that would have given him the perfect score just slipped his memory. He didn't bother to explain that he KNEW the answer, remembered it just as he turned his paper in; that wasn't the important thing - it was that 98% final score instead of the coveted, the EXPECTED 100%.

Asking Laura Mantrell, the local drugstore owner's daughter to the dance, getting a 'yes' in answer, was well enough, his mother told him with a deep sigh of disappointment, but "surely Andrea Martin would have been a better choice. After all, Andrea's father IS the mayor!" He didn't answer back, didn't try to explain he and Andrea pretty well despised each other, had since second grade, and asking her out wouldn't have accomplished anything except get him laughed at.

The latest thing, the one from today, it was that he hadn't managed to get Lynn home from the library at the proper time; they'd been almost fifteen minutes late for the established cleaning-up-for-supper routine. Lynn had argued with him, tried to get him to let HER take the blame for that one.

"After all, I was the one who forgot to get that book for my history assignment til after I'd checked out and had to go back and find it and everything. That's what made us late!"

Well, Craig wasn't going to stand by and let his sister go through a lecture for absentmindedness yet again, not when, in his own estimation, it HAD been his fault. His father had drilled it into him that a good man didn't let someone else take blame for something that was his fault.

He'd had a few words too about that saying that was going around, 'things happen'. Well, that wasn't how it was worded, but his mother took a dim view of the real word used, and the household abided by that.

"Nonsense! That's lazy thinking! 'Things' don't just happen, Craig; a successful man MAKES things happen; he CONTROLS what happens around him! If he can't manage that, he's failed in his responsibility, to himself and to everyone else! And a successful man DOES NOT FAIL!"

His mother had had her say plenty of times about it being his responsibility to take care of his little sister, making sure she stayed on track, that being the older put that on his shoulders.

"Lynn, I should have checked with you right at the beginning to make sure you had everything, before I went to look in the military section. I took too much time there and we only had just enough time to get home even if we'd left when you first checked out. So it WAS my fault! I'm the older, I should have known better. I should have DONE better. And besides, I'm already in for it over that test and I think maybe one or two other things; there's no sense in us BOTH getting called on the carpet!" 

He remembered the scowl on Lynn's face and her reply, "you missed ONE question, Craig. ONE! It's not like you didn't try, not like you bombed the whole test!"

But he knew how his parents would look at it. 100% was success, missing a two-point question brought the score down to 98%, which wasn't 100%, which wasn't success, and "if something isn't success, Craig, what is it, just tell me THAT, young man??!" He knew the response he was supposed to give, at least he knew the right answer to that one, and snapped it out crisply.

"If something isn't success, it's failure, SIR!"

"Damn straight! And we don't have failures in this house; failures are not welcome here. You had best remember that! We do NOT, I WILL NOT have failures in this house!!" 

Sixteen year old Craig Garrison thought about where he would go when he was no longer allowed to stay here, the house he'd always called home. Where would he go when they finally figured out he just didn't have what it took to be the success they expected him to be? When they finally figured out he was never going to be perfect?***

 

"Wonder w'at 'e's thinking about? Been muttering and frowning, and everything for the last twenty minutes or so. Coo, wish 'e'd wake up! No sign of Chiefy and Actor?"

Well, of course there hadn't been; Casino would have said something right off; hell, the guys would have been back inside even, but when he got worried, Goniff either chattered or went stone silent, and right now he was in the chattering zone, and Casino understood all that, didn't take offense, just went with it.

"Nah, no sign. Watch out for that area off to the far right; some kinda equipment or something with ropes, keeps creaking in the wind, throwin shadows. Don't get trigger happy!"

Goniff just nodded, got up and started to ease through the door, hesitated and took a long look at Garrison, then over at Casino.

"Keep a close eye on 'im, ei? Sometimes when this 'appens, 'e starts thinking 'e's gotta get out, go looking for the guys. Can go from down to up faster than you'd think. 'E gets away from us in the dark . . ."

Casino grimaced, "yeah, I'll keep a good eye on 'im. You be careful out there, ya hear?" 

 

***He'd been in North Africa when he got the letter from his mother. He read it, folded it carefully and slid it back into the envelope.

"Bad news?" Mitch asked from the next cot.

Craig was quiet for awhile, "my father's dead. Heart attack."

"Hey, Craig, I'm sorry. You've never talked about your parents much, just your kid sister."

"Yeah, Lynn. She was expected back in time for the funeral; she was in school up in Maryland and the funeral was in Virginia, so she probably made it."

"Sorry you couldn't, man."

"They wouldn't have expected me to," Craig said quietly.

Mitch nodded, "well, we're a long ways away, that's for sure." 

Craig didn't bother explaining the truth, what his mother had outlined quite clearly, crisply in her letter. That she didn't expect him to get back for the funeral, though perhaps a good son, a successful son would have found a way. Of course, a successful son would have risen a lot higher than a lowly Lieutenant's rank by now, high enough to have some influence that would have gotten him home in time. A successful son would have managed to get himself assigned somewhere Stateside, so he could be close when his elderly parents needed him.

Some small rebellious part of him snorted at that; that little part that knew the truth, his parents had NEVER needed him, not the real Craig Garrison, the Craig Garrison who sometimes screwed up, the imperfect Craig Garrison. The son they 'needed' had never existed, and he felt the burn of shame at that. 

Before he left his quarters, he lit a match and burned the letter to a grey ash; no sense taking a chance on anyone else seeing it, reading it and realizing just how much of a failure Lieutenant Craig Garrison really was.

The letter of condolences he sent his mother was everything proper - carefully worded - almost as personal as if he'd been writing to a stranger, which was really quite apropos.***

 

"Shit, Warden! Ya know, ya need to stop doing shit like this! Think maybe we need to stop letting you be the officer on these jobs? That way ya could wear one a those turtle hats, maybe not keep knocking yerself out like this!"

Casino had tried sitting, but he'd done too much of that on guard duty; now he was pacing, making sure to keep a close watch on the man stretched out on that torn blanket. Garrison was talking now, not making a hell of a lot of sense, though the fragments about not being needed if he wasn't perfect, how he had to keep trying to get better, to stop screwing up - none of that made much sense considering what Casino knew of the young officer. Shit, no one worked harder at making a success of the impossible jobs they were given than Lieutenant Craig Garrison, worked harder at making the team work.

 

***I am most disappointed in you, Craig. I've heard that you have been seen with your mother's younger brother, Jake. You know that is not acceptable. Jake is not welcome in my house; we no longer even mention his name. It should have been obvious to you that you were to have no association with him."

Craig Garrison, college student, West Point applicant, spoke up, surprising both his parents and himself, "what did Uncle Jake do that was so wrong that I'm not supposed to even have a cup of coffee with him? He seems like an alright guy!"

His mother pursed her rouged lips, "that's not your concern. We say he's not welcome, that should be more than enough!"

He watched as his father motioned with his head toward the door, and his mother, obedient as always, left and closed the door after her. 

"Sit down, Craig." Now, there was a shocker, being told to break that parade rest stance he'd learned almost as soon as he could walk, the one he automatically fell into whenever he entered this room at his parents' command. In fact, his first lecture in that position had happened in here when he was three, barely able to maintain the stance for more than a few minutes without toppling over; he remembered that, though he didn't remember the reason for the lecture, not anymore.

"Your mother doesn't need to hear all of this, but perhaps you do. Of course, it would be better if you would just accept the word of those older and wiser, but since you are being stubborn about this, I am going to lay it all out. Just this once, mind you! I don't intend to be explaining my decisions to some young whippersnapper every time I turn around!"

Craig felt his mouth twitch, forcing himself to keep from laughing bitterly, since his father had never once explained his decisions, probably not to anyone, but certainly not to him. 

"Your mother's younger brother became involved with some people who are less than reputable during the war, engaged in activities unbecoming to a gentleman." A heavy sigh accompanied that, but left Craig as much in the dark as before.

"Such as?" he dared to ask. The frown he got didn't bode well for getting an answer, but surprisingly he did.

"Instead of taking honorable service with the military or the diplomatic corps, he became involved in clandestine operations of the sort best left to those, well, to other types of men, men without a strong moral core."

"He was a spy??! On our side, though, right??"

That got him a solid glare, "well, of course on our side! He was a young fool who obviously understood little about honor and what a gentleman did or did not engage in; however, he was NOT a traitor!" 

Craig opened his mouth to ask more questions, but didn't, since it looked like his father just might let more information slip about this now even more intriguing uncle of his.

"AND, he compounded his many errors by actually marrying one of the women of the family who helped train him for that despicable role! A woman of dubious morals from a family all too familiar with the shady side of the street! Actually notorious, a couple of them!!!"

Craig decided against mentioning that Uncle Jake had proudly shown him a photograph of "my Lucia. Beautiful, isn't she?" grinning like a man totally besotted; Craig had looked at the sloe-eyed woman leaning into his uncle and had to agree. He brought his attention back to his father, still in full lecture mode.

"A man does not become a success by associating with such people. YOU will not become a success by associating with such people, OR with Jake Cavanaugh. I expect not to have to repeat this conversation."

And the 'conversation' was over. 

Craig knew then and there he needed to be more careful in his future meetings with Uncle Jake; he knew somehow there would BE more such meetings, even if it meant he didn't become a success. It was like he was a dial on a compass, and Uncle Jake Cavanaugh, spy, husband of the lovely Lucia, was 'due north'. He didn't know how, but somehow, he had to know more. Perhaps his Spring Break? And then there was the summer. Hmmm.***

 

"Ruddy 'ell, Casino! 'E's STILL out??!"

"Yeah, but starting to make a little more sense. Well, at least you can understand most a the words, though what he's SAYING dont make all that much sense. Tell ya one thing, we get back, gonna send a big 'thank you' letter to my folks. Always knew I had it good, never knew just how much til now! His folks? If I'm hearin it all right, musta been a real pair! Kinda like Kingston and Johns and some a those others that think theirs dont stink! Though I'd like to hear more about that Uncle Jake a his; wouldn't be surprised if that aint where the Warden learned all the con stuff he knows. Okay, I'll take over outside. Hope they get back soon with some wheels!"

Goniff moved over to plop down crosslegged next to Garrison, close enough his voice wouldn't carry any further should Casino stay close to the door that hung by just one hinge.

"Ei, Warden - Craig! Come on now! Chiefy should be back any time now, and we need you awake! Please!" 

 

***He was yelling at the guys for taking the risk of rescuing him from that Gestapo cell, telling them that they should have bailed, not put themselves back in the line of fire. Then he'd started on them for taking out that German Major, that it had been dumb, put everything at risk again. He'd looked from Chief to Casino to Actor, trying to figure out which one had been that stupid, that foolhearty. Then Actor had explained that he didn't think it HAD been one of the team that slit the Major's throat, that there simply hadn't been the time or the opportunity. One by one he'd asked them though, each denying it in turn - Chief, Actor, Casino.

He'd hesitated before asking Goniff, knowing how likely THAT would have been, the little pickpocket not being adept with weapons and having a twitchy stomach where violence was concerned. The look on Goniff's face, the incredulous expression of shock at even being asked had given him his answer, along with that "who? ME??!".

But somehow, this time it was different; he'd learned more, far more than he ever expected to know, more even than he was comfortable knowing, and this time, those innocent blue eyes, well, they couldn't hide the truth from him now.

"You shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have taken the risk. It wasn't worth it, not for me. I'm not worth it - I, I failed; it was my fault, not the team's. It was my fault I got caught. I should have figured out Lewis was a double agent in time. I should have . . ."***

 

The rasping growl of frustration penetrated his fog where none of the softer voices had.

"You should 'ave w'at, Craig? Read 'is ruddy mind??! Pulled that little tidbit out of the intelligence we DIDN'T get from those idiots up at HQ? You didn't FAIL; things 'appen. They 'appen all the time; don't mean you failed!"

"And even if you did, so w'at? Yer not a superman! You don't 'ave to be ruddy perfect! No one expects that, and if anyone does then they're ruddy stupid and you need to tell em to get stuffed!"

"Anyways, don't know what the 'ell we'd do with you if you WERE perfect; ruddy annoying, it'd be! 'Ave more than enough dealing with Actor and 'is little snooty ways, ya know??"

"And you DON'T ruddy well get to tell me w'at risks to take or not to take for you, you 'ear me??! I decide that! You're MINE! You're too ruddy important to me to let something like that pass; you're too ruddy important now, you were too ruddy important then!!" 

Goniff was past snarling now, pacing and raging, though in a low voice, but when he looked at Garrison, now those green eyes were open and clear and fully alert. He flushed at his outburst; he made a point to try and keep it professional in the field, not to call the man by his first name, always 'Warden' or 'Lieutenant', certainly not scold him like he'd just done, not admitted . . . Now he'd really let it all fly.

He waited for the admonition, the dressing down he knew he deserved, but it didn't come. Instead a puzzled look, then a slow smile came to Garrison's face, "you don't expect me to be perfect? You'd find it annoying if I were perfect?" {"Now, isn't that a novel idea!"}

Well, yes, Lynn had told him that, about not having to be perfect. His Uncle Jake had, as well. But somehow, this time it was different. From this fiery little Englishman, the words meant more somehow, seemed believable somehow. 

Goniff heard just a trace of a sound outside, recognized what it was and let his voice, his expression switch back to one the team would have been more accustomed to hearing, seeing. Garrison caught that shift, knew what it meant as well.

"Well, acourse, Warden! You start being perfect, gonna start expecting it of us too, and 'ave to tell you, aint one chance in 'ell of THAT ever 'appening! Wouldn't know w'at to do with each other, we all start getting perfect!"

The others came through the door at that moment, catching only the last bit of that conversation. Actor reassured the whole lot of them with a very dry, "somehow I don't think any of you have anything to worry about in that regard, Goniff. As for myself, I shall refrain from making that little extra effort; I wouldn't want to show you up."

Only the fact that they needed to hightail it out of there prevented them from picking up the immaculately dressed man and tossing him into the muddy corner of the dilapidated hovel. Somehow, the now fully awake and still smiling Garrison figured the three would make time to deal with that little issue once they got back home. 

{"They'd find it ANNOYING if I were perfect. They don't WANT me to be perfect. HE doesn't want me to be perfect! You know, I think I just might be able to manage that!"} and as they made their way out that rickety door to the car waiting in the dark, he took one last look at their resident pickpocket, HIS pickpocket, and shook his head in amused wonder at the highly indignant, rapidly retreating voices and images in the back of his mind, banished by that Cockney tirade.

If they ever came back, well, he knew who to go to to chase them away again. Frankly, he wasn't going to miss them all that much. Maybe not at all. Not as long as he could replace them with his team, replace them with that raspy voice and cheeky smile and those ever-so-innocent blue eyes. No, he rather thought he'd not miss them one damned bit!!


End file.
